


betting pool

by eating_custardinbed



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, Betting, Episode Related, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Pranks, Secret Relationship, everyone is just blind, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29941110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eating_custardinbed/pseuds/eating_custardinbed
Summary: “The betting pool on whether House and Wilson are dating has been going on as long as Chase has been at Princeton Plainsboro.”
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	betting pool

**Author's Note:**

> hallo again everybody! I hope you enjoy this little oneshot of mine. The “episode related” tag is for s5ep09 “last resort” and s5ep16 “the softer side”, with some dialogue taken from these episodes. Every other plot line is mine, but I do not own House M.D or any of the characters. 
> 
> please enjoy!

The betting pool on whether House and Wilson are dating has been going on as long as Chase has been at Princeton Plainsboro. 

There are probably five or six betting pools going on within the hospital at any one time, but this one has lasted by far the longest. When Chas took over the hospital’s underground betting activity from that lovely Dr Lee from dermatology upon the man’s retirement, the pool has been going from the very second House started working at the hospital. The bet has outlasted all of Wilson’s marriages, House’s relationship with Stacey, any half-hearted flings either of them have had and, most recently, their fallout after Amber’s death (their longest spat to date, Brenda the head nurse tells him), and by this point almost everybody is in on it. Some people seem to change their mind on a regular basis, coming to Chase with some crazy explanation on why they were changing their bet, but the ratio usually hovers somewhere around seventy-thirty, with the majority claiming they can’t _possibly_ be dating because nobody, let alone the lovely Dr Wilson, is stupid enough to date Dr House. 

Chase had worked under House for three and a half years, and the man is still a mystery to him. Foreman is about the same, and whilst Cameron would like to _think_ she knows him, deep down they both know that she doesn’t. That’s the thing: the only person who really knows House is Wilson, and they can’t exactly ask _him_ about this, can they?

But Chase is going to be damned if he doesn’t find out and the mystery begins, strangely enough, with Rasputin.

It should be clarified that this is the song _‘Rasputin’_ , not the crazed pre-revolution Russian royal consort. He is only in House’s office because the good coffee in the surgery longue has run out and he knows that House hoards the stuff like it’s gold. House, unusually (it is before ten a.m, after all) is already in and he’s sat with his team chatting about their last case, the one with the girl with the pins in her head. House has his legs up on the desk and he looks almost happy. That’s when the song starts to blast through the wall. It’s loud, so loud that Kutner starts, Thirteen’s eyes flick upwards and people outside in the corridor turn to look towards the source of the noise. Everybody in the office but House soon does so too, and it doesn’t take them long to realise that that’s coming from--

“ _HOUSE!!_ ” a certain head of oncology roars as he storms into the office. Now everybody turns to look at him. Wilson is glaring at House, nostrils flaring in time with his heavy breathing. He has his hands on his hips. A small smirk grows on House’s face, and he turns slowly to his best friend. 

“Enjoying the music, dear?” he asks, his tone as fakely innocent as it can get when it’s House. 

“Enjoying the music?” Wilson repeats. He glares at House even harder, if that is possible. “Am I _enjoying the music_?” 

“It’s a simple question,” House says with a shrug. 

“House, I have a terminal patient arriving in thirty minutes!” Wilson says. He glances back before coming further into the office and closing the door behind him. “I can’t tell someone they’re dying with jaunty seventies music playing in the background.”

“Could’ve been worse,” House remarks. At this point everybody else in the room is looking between the two of them in confusion and vague amusement. “It could’ve been _‘Leave a Tender Moment Alone’_.” 

Wilson smiles and laughs a little as he comes forward. Resting his hands on the desk, he leans down so that his and House’s noses are almost touching. The fellows (and Chase) all glance at each other. Taub raises an eyebrow, Thirteen and Chase both smirk, Kutner looks shocked and Foreman just looks bored. 

“If you don’t turn it off, your window will be the next thing I put a bottle through,” Wilson says in the most sickly-sweet voice imaginable. Everybody looks at the oncologist in confusion. Wilson is the goodie-two-shoes of the hospital who never steps a toe out of line, everybody knows that. House chuckles like he knows what he’s on about though, and shakes his head. 

“Like you’d damage hospital property.” 

“I never said it’d be your _office_ window.” 

House smirks. Chase doesn’t miss how his eyes flick down to the oncologist’s lips before he looks back up to Wilson’s eyes. 

“Naughty. I like it.”

“Just turn the music off?”

“I’d love to,” House says after a moment. He makes a fake sheepish face, and Wilson looks like he wants to murder the diagnostician even more. “But apparently someone glued the stereos playing the music into a very difficult-to-reach place. Sorry!” 

Wilson shuts his eyes and exhales slowly. When he opens his eyes again, there’s a small smirk on his face. He shakes his head before sending the team an apologetic look and gently taking House’s arm. The team watches in utter bafflement as House allows himself to be led out of the office and down the corridor. 

“You’re an ass,” Wilson murmurs as his office door shuts behind them. House smirks, gently pushing his boyfriend against the door. Their lips meet halfway and Wilson squeaks a little, eliciting a proud chuckle from the diagnostician. “House, we said no PDA at work!” the oncologist says as he pulls away. 

“And it’s not public,” House replies. Rasputin is still blaring out of the hidden speakers, and although Wilson will never admit it the song is actually starting to grow on him a little. He sighs as he pretends to be annoyed. “Come on, you said you had half an hour before your patient gets here.” 

“Since when have you cared about me being on time?” Wilson asks bemusedly. He expertly dodges a kiss from House, so that his boyfriend’s lips meet his cheek instead of his lips. 

“I’m trying a new thing.”

“Well stop it. It’s weird.” 

House smirks again, and it’s that _stupid_ smile that Wilson just can’t resist. The oncologist smiles, letting his boyfriend kiss him again. House is the only person he’s really kissed who’s taller than him, and it’s still something he’s getting used to. “Seriously though, the music,” he says once they break apart again, raising an eyebrow. 

“It’s programmed to shut up when you have a patient,” House grumbles after a moment. Wilson shakes his head a little. 

“Who gave you my schedule?”

“Brown.”

“Well looks like I’ll have to have a word with Brown,” Wilson says. He smirks, looking up at House. “After I’ve sorted _you_ out.” 

House’s eyes flash and he pulls the blinds to, much to Chase’s (who has been standing outside trying to see what’s going on) annoyance. 

***

Each day until House gets a new case, a different song blasts out of Wilson’s office. Some of the more notable songs include _‘Bang Bang’_ by Green Day (everybody on the floor is sure they can still feel the bassline pumping through their heads), _‘Jailhouse Rock’_ by Elvis (Wilson had remarked later that night that it felt like he was being pranked by his granddad with that one) and _‘Tik Tok’_ by K$sha (that had certainly been an interesting day). After this incident, which includes a very pissed-off Cuddy, a new donor and the donor’s somewhat pleased teenaged daughter, Wilson invests in earplugs, House soon gets a new case and after two more incidents ( _‘Love Machine’_ by Girls Aloud and _‘Ice Ice Baby’_ by Vanilla Ice) the prank is practically forgotten. 

And Chase _still_ doesn’t know if they’re dating. 

To be quite honest, he kind of forgets about it for a while. Surgery has been busy, and with the current hottest betting ring being on whether the two nurses on the gynaecology wards are doing each other he’s let the issue slip from his mind. 

Then House manages to get himself locked in Cuddy’s office with a gun-wielding madman, Chase just wants to be with his girlfriend even though she’s holed herself up in House’s office and he accidentally ends up being the one who tells Wilson. 

He runs into the oncologist just as he reaches the elevator. Wilson takes a few steps back and murmurs an apology even though it’s Chase who walked into him, and Chase feels a bit of his anger at House melt away. He thinks for a moment that maybe that’s why Wilson hangs around with House so much: his presence probably prevents eighty-percent of punches that want to be aimed at the diagnostician. 

“Chase, hey,” Wilson says with a small smile once he’s actually registered who’s walked into him. “Do you know why they’ve closed the ground floor off? Only I promised I’d meet House for lunch down there.” 

“Didn’t you hear?” Chase asks, a little bewildered. Wilson shakes his head. “A gunman took a load of people from the clinic hostage. House and Thirteen, along with a dozen-odd clinic patients, are locked in Cuddy’s office with him. They’re not letting anyone down there until they’re sure it’s safe.”

Wilson doesn’t say anything. He’s staring at Chase in such a way that makes the Australian think that the oncologist doesn’t _know_ he’s staring. After a moment Wilson sucks in a deep breath and comes back to himself. 

“They’ve got backup down there?” he asks. Chase shrugs. 

“I think so?”

“Okay,” Wilson murmurs. He shakes his head, looks down at his shoes and then back up to Chase. “Okay,” he repeats, a little louder this time. “I’ve, um, I’ve got patients to go see. Yeah. Sorry.”

He scuttles away, Chase watches him with slight confusion on his face and promptly forgets about it. 

Wilson, of course, does not forget about it. Instead, he frets about it. Oh he frets about it all right. He desperately wants to go down there and, he doesn’t know, rescue House? Then again, House has never exactly been the _rescue-e_ type, and he would surely endure mocking for weeks, possibly months. He can hear it now: _“Jimmy was so worried about me that he rushed down like a knight in shining armour to save me!”_. No, he can do without it, so he throws himself into his patient rounds. 

The gunshot goes off whilst he’s in the pediatric ward. It’s loud, considering they’re on the third floor, and instantly his mind jumps into panic mode. He goes stock still as his eyes flash towards the door (like _that’s_ going to help), and he must have some sort of look on his face as a few of the parents give him a strange look. To avoid the horrible thoughts swirling around his head (he is not going to miss another one of House’s brushes with death, he’s already been absent from far too many) he sets about calming his patients, assuring them that they’re going to be fine. As he leaves, the redheaded pediatric nurse (who knows about him and House because she accidentally walked in on them kissing in the clinic the other week) catches his arm and gives him a small _it’s-going-to-be-okay_ look. He chooses to ignore the lump that forms in his throat as he nods. 

House finally calls him about an hour or so later: he isn’t sure how long. He’s down on the geriatic ICU ward, once again attempting to drown himself in his work. That’s typical of him. Whenever anything is going wrong at home, whether it be a pending divorce, an extra worry about his runaway brother Danny or another House-ian stunt, he always tries to spend as much time at the office and with his patients as possible. It helps-- somewhat. 

They have a fairly standard conversation, the one where House gets all the answers he wants and Wilson gets none of the ones _he_ wants. To be honest it’s more of a consult than a phone call, but the oncologist will take it because now he knows House is (somewhat) safe and some of the weight on his chest lifts. 

“You know I love you, right?” he blurts just as he _knows_ House is about to hang up. There is silence for a moment. 

“I know,” House murmurs. He hangs up before Wilson can say anything else. 

Neither of them acknowledge that this is the first time Wilson’s said it. 

After finishing up in geriatrics Wilson heads up to House’s office. All of the fellows (except for Chase) are there, waiting for House’s next call. Foreman tells him the latest development, and when Wilson hears that House both took and gave back the gun, nobody misses how the muscles in his jaw tighten. Nobody misses how worried he sounds when House finally calls, no matter how much he’s trying to mask it with anger and annoyance. 

Wilson disappears once this phone call is over, and immediately rushes downstairs towards the lobby. Now the gunman is down in radiology they’re letting everybody back down there. Cuddy catches him before he can go charging down to radiology and the two stand at the nurses’ station, neither of them concealing their worry very well. It seems like they’re standing there forever. 

Then everything happens all at once. House emerges covered in plaster and dust, and both of them straighten up from where they’ve been leaning against the desk. A moment later, the SWAT team came up, the gunman in the middle of them. Once they are gone Wilson can’t stop himself from rushing forward, grabbing House’s shoulder and checking him over. 

“You’re okay?” he says a little breathlessly. 

“I’m fine,” House breathes. He seems almost stunned for a moment, but he shakes his head and comes back. “Thirteen--”

“Somebody’ll take care of her,” Wilson replies quickly. “Here, come on, walking without your cane for this long can’t be doing your leg any good.”

Before House can complain he grabs his boyfriend’s arm and hooks it around his own shoulders. House sags a little, and Wilson notices some of the stress lines in his forehead soften. They walk/limp forward, all but ignoring Cuddy’s questions as they go past her. The two are quiet as Wilson leads them into the deserted clinic, looking around quickly before slipping into an exam room and shutting the door behind them. 

As soon as that is done he lets House go and flies towards him, kissing him shortly and repeatedly. House seems very taken aback by it, reciprocating a few of them but mostly looking vaguely befuddled. 

“Wilson, what--” he tries to say, but Wilson kisses him again and shuts him up. This continues for a whole minute or so before House finally pulls away, shaking his head as he limps towards the closest flat surface in the room, clutching onto it for support. “Before you start--”

“You _idiot_ !” Wilson yells. House shuts his mouth obligingly, looking down at the floor. “Why did you give him the gun back!?”

“In my defence--”

“What?” Wilson gives him a look, his hands on his hips. “What _possible_ defence is there for this!” 

“Nobody died, did they?” House says. Wilson glares at him. “Don’t give me that look!” 

“I thought you were going to die!” Wilson yells back. “Forgive me for caring just a _little_ bit about you!” 

“You don’t care, you’re just so terrified of losing anybody that you have to lie to yourself about _who_ you’re scared of losing!” House shouts. Wilson stops from where he’s pacing around the door of the exam room, looking up slowly to stare at House. The diagnostician looks uncomfortably down to the floor. 

“You really don’t think I’d care about losing you?” Wilson asks quietly. 

“I literally just said-- were you even listening?” House shoots back snarkily. Wilson shakes his head. House is about to say something else but then Wilson comes forward, lets out a small noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob and pulls House into a hug. 

For a moment House freezes, his arms pinned by his side. He looks down and gives Wilson, whose chin is resting on his shoulder, a strange look. 

“What--” he starts to say. 

“Shut up and let this happen,” Wilson growls in reply. 

Eventually Wilson does pull away, and House does the gracious thing of ignoring the shine of tear tracks on his lover’s face. They regard each other carefully for a moment before House clears his throat. 

“I’m gonna go… find my cane,” he murmurs. Wilson, clearing his throat, nods. 

Within half an hour Chase has heard how Dr Wilson came out of Exam Room Three after House and raised voices, having clearly been crying. 

But Chase, nor anybody else, is ever _really_ sure what’s going on between them until House stops breathing in his office out of the blue. 

Nobody notices until Wilson kicks the chair, but the way House’s head lolls to the side is far too real to be faked. Wilson’s expression changes from annoyed to concerned, and Cuddy doesn’t miss the worry in his eyes.

“What’s going on?” they faintly hear Kutner say through the glass wall. 

“House,” Wilson says as he leans down and feels his partner’s neck for a pulse. “House!” 

There’s a clatter of chairs and a moment later Kutner and Foreman run into the office. Wilson doesn’t even notice as he holds a hand over House’s mouth. 

“He’s not breathing,” Wilson says urgently. The panic in his stomach is deep and entrenched, and he knows he can’t get away from it. 

“Can you get a pulse?” Cuddy asks. 

“Barely.”

“Call a code,” Cuddy says to Kutner, who nods and runs for the phone. 

“Get an ambu bag from the nurses’ station,” Wilson orders. He’s mentally preparing himself for a brutal resuscitation, a few agonising hours or perhaps days at an unconscious House’s bedside and then a good few weeks of House’s bitching, which he could deal with _as long as House is alive goddammit!_ Foreman comes forward, looking carefully at his boss. 

“Heart’s still working that means synapsis is still firing,” he says. Wilson mentally slaps himself: how did he not remember that? “We just need to get a message through.”

Foreman pushes Wilson out of the way and rips House’s shirt open. Wilson watches as the other twists House’s left nipple. He lets himself wince for his boyfriend, who will moan about this for days now. In a miracle that makes Wilson want to go to synagogue and praise Him up above, House comes instantly to consciousness with a cry of agony and, _thank fucking God,_ a huge intake of air. 

And in this moment, Wilson can’t stop himself. He knows everybody is there, Cuddy and Kutner and Foreman and _God knows how many people are watching through the glass_ , but he doesn’t care. House could have died. If he and Cuddy hadn’t been worried over the minutest of things, he probably would have. Taking House’s face in his hands, he closes his eyes as he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. When he breaks away, House and everybody else is staring at him. 

“You stopped _breathing_ ,” Wilson offers in an angry voice as a way of explanation. 

“What the hell is going on?” Cuddy asks, and the moment goes. 

Chase hears about this within 5 minutes, mainly because his pager is going crazy with the amount of people asking for their payout. He waits though, tells them he needs more evidence. Then, by accident (or the fact that Wilson chooses Cuddy to rant to about House, who then tells Cameron who then tells him), he hears about the argument. 

_“You idiot!” Wilson yelled. He’d known it. He’d_ known _it. He’d desperately not wanted it to be true but goddammit he had known it. It had to be true. Why else would House be in a back alley making himself vomit?_

_“Okay, I admit it. I have bulimia,” House said. Wilson felt the anger rise another couple of notches. “I look good though, don't I?”_

_“Heroin,” Wilson breathed. He shook his head before shouting, “Heroin! House, of all the stupid—“_

_“I’m not on heroin,” House interjected quietly. Wilson stopped, giving his partner a_ do-you-think-I’m-stupid _look._

_“I just caught you with your fingers down your throat.”_

_“I'm on methadone.” Wilson stopped, blinking. He hadn’t been expecting House to actually tell him anything. As House shrugged a little, though, all of the information from his pharmacology classes in med school came flooding back to him. “Stupid product. Heroin without the high.”_

_“Yeah, and twice the risk of death,” Wilson shot back._

_“But no risk of arrest.”_

_“You nearly died!”_

_“Today was a fluke,” House said. It was said in such a casual way that it simultaneously made Wilson want to hug and throttle him. “I nodded off.”_

_“Right, you're safe as long as you never sleep again,” the oncologist replied, his words heavily laced with sarcasm. “Mistime your dose, you die. Couple of drinks, you die. Mix it with the wrong drugs, you die.” He stopped, taking a few deep breaths. He couldn’t lose House. Not now. Not after Amber. “You want to detox from Vicodin? Pick something that won't kill you. Please. I can’t lose you.”_

_“I'm not detoxing,” House countered, entirely ignoring Wilson’s sentiment._

_“If you're looking for something to help with your pain—“ Wilson started to say, but House cut him off._

_“Doesn't help my pain,” he said. Wilson gave him a confused look. “Ig eliminates it.” Wilson watched in shock as House tossed his cane into a nearby dumpster and turned to walk away. He paused. “My leg doesn’t hurt anymore.”_

_House managed to get about halfway down the street before Wilson came back to himself and chased after him. He caught the diagnostician by the arm, causing the other to pause and turn to him. He huffed out a few deep breaths. He_ really _wasn’t that in shape anymore._

_“What do you mean, your leg doesn’t hurt anymore?” he asked, still a little out of breath._

_“It_ means _,” House said, his voice heavily condescending. “That it doesn’t feel like this anymore.”_

_Wilson expected to feel a cane hit against his shins and so did House, but then the two of them remembered that House didn’t exactly have the cane anymore. Wilson wanted to giggle, but forced himself to remain stern. “Huh,” House said, sounding almost amused. “Guess I’ll have to find something else to use when you’re annoying me.”_

_“Is there really nothing else that’ll get rid of your pain?” Wilson asked desperately. “Nothing?”_

_“I’ve tried everything!” House yelled. His words were so charged that Wilson took a step back, actually a little scared. “Morphine works for about an hour, Vicodin barely makes a dent anymore, the ketamine wore off. This is the_ only _thing that helps.” He looked up at Wilson then, and the oncologist can’t help but think that his partner looks almost upset. “I don’t want to be in pain anymore!”_

_“So you’d rather risk your life every day instead!?” Wilson yelled back. As much as his heart wrenched for him, he was still fuming._

_“If that’s what it takes, yes!”_

_“And you never thought to tell me?” Wilson asked. That shut House up then. “At all? Then maybe I could’ve made sure you didn’t fall asleep today and then maybe you wouldn’t have nearly died! Why didn’t you tell me?”_

_“Because I knew you’d be like this!”_

_“What, concerned for your well-being?” Wilson let out a mirthless laugh, shaking his head as he looked up at the night sky. His breath was misty in front of him. “Sorry, I won’t bother again.”_

_“Stop being so dramatic,” House muttered as he shook his head._

_“We’re supposed to be_ together, _House!” Wilson shouted. “That means not lying to your partner when you’re taking something that might kill you!”_

_“You don’t have a leg to stand on here Mr Philanderer!” House replied._

_“Me cheating on my wives is not the same as you lying to me about drugs!”_

_“Stop pretending you care so much!”_

_“I fucking love you, House! I want to fucking marry you and spend the rest of my life with you, but I can’t do that if you’re dead!”_

_They both stopped then, Wilson breathing heavily and House staring at him. Their eyes slowly met after a moment._

_“Did you just…?” House asked as he gestured between them. Wilson, his breath forming clouds in front of him, started to look vaguely confused as he nodded._

_“I think I just…”_

_“Proposed,” they both finished,_

_“If this is how you propose I don’t know how you tricked three women into marrying you,” House said._ Ever the joker, _Wilson thought as he couldn’t help but smile._

_“I think you’ll find I’m normally a tad more romantic,” he said with a laugh. House smiled at him then. “So, what about it?” he asked, shrugging._

_“I guess there’s worse people,” House replied._

_“Is that a yes?”_

_“Why not?” House snorted as he said, “if it doesn’t work out, I know you aren’t adverse to divorce.”_

_If Wilson would’ve had something to throw at House, he would have thrown it: instead he settled for going forward, slinging his arm around his fiancé and saying,_

_“Let’s go home and make sure you don’t die in your sleep.”_

The next morning, Chase hands everyone their money and reminds himself to send the two some flowers. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a comment and/or kudos, as these really make my day! I endeavour to respond to any and all comments. also if you want you can come yell at me on my tumblr @thatludicrousdisplay. I will take requests for these two if you want me to write anything!
> 
> stay safe and happy, yall xx


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